


Field Medicine (FebuWhump 17)

by SylvanFreckles



Series: Freckles' FebuWhump 2021 [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Burns, Febuwhump, Field Surgery, Gen, Wendigo, dean makes dad jokes, dean makes questionable decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: It would have been nice to know wendigos traveled in pairs...now Sam's just trying to figure out how injured his brother actually is, while Dean just has one thing to say.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Freckles' FebuWhump 2021 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139234
Kudos: 10
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Field Medicine (FebuWhump 17)

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is kinda short, but I'm getting over a rough couple of days. There's still plenty of FebuWhump to come!

“Dean?” Sam rolled to his back, ear still ringing from the sound of the explosion. “What's...Dean?”

The dark, threatening silence of the night was broken by the crackle of flames. Sam pushed himself up on his elbows just enough to see the glow of the fire on the other side of a small copse of trees. With a monumental groan he struggled his way to his feet, tenderly prodding at the lump on his temple to check for blood.

They'd been hunting for a wendigo, but apparently these ones lived in packs (or else their dad's lore was wrong) and as soon as Sam had hit one with the flamethrower another had come shrieking out of the darkness and knocked him off his feet.

The corpse of the first wendigo was still smoking, its blackened limbs twisted in a death rictus, so Sam fumbled in the dark for his flamethrower. It was homemade, just a can of hairspray duct-taped to a barbecue lighter, and he shook the can to try to gauge how much hairspray was left.

He was taking too long, he knew it. Sam ran for the trees where he'd seen the other flames. He didn't take care to muffle or hide his tracks—if the other wendigo was still alive it wouldn't matter anyway, and any second could mean the difference between life and death out here. The undergrowth grabbed his legs and branches overhead snatched at his hair, but he finally fell into a small clearing awash in the red of dying embers.

A twisted, skeletal body lay with its hands stretched out toward the sky, like it had been trying to ward off death. Sam easily recognized the tortured body of the other wendigo and, judging by the faint glow of embers on its gaunt body its death had been the explosion Sam had heard.

Dean lay at its feet...on fire.

Sam let out a harsh exhale and sprinted over to his brother's side, rolling him away from the wendigo's body. It wasn't as bad as he'd first thought, in the panic of the moment. Just Dean's sleeve was on fire, but it was spreading up his shoulder. Sam whipped his own shirt off to smother the flames, pinning down Dean's uninjured arm with his knee when his brother started struggling.

“Sammy?”

He ignored his brother's groggy voice to focus on the flames. Dean was wearing flannel, which meant cotton, which meant at least it wouldn't melt to his skin like a polyester shirt would—but that also meant there was nothing to keep the fire from burning straight through his clothes.

“'m okay,” Dean protested, fighting Sam's weight on his other arm. “Damn...friggin moose...lemme up.”

“You could have serious burns,” Sam argued. The flames were gone, so he tugged his phone out of his pocket to turn on the flashlight function. “What the hell happened?”

Dean grunted, relaxing back against the ground. “Son of a bitch knocked my flare gun away,” he muttered.

Sam glanced up at the extra-crispy wendigo. “I guess you got it back.”

“Nope.” Dean enunciated the word sharply, so his lips popped on the word. “Road flare.”

For a beat, Sam stared down at his brother's grinning face. There were scratches on Dean's cheek and chin, he now saw. Plus a few bloody gashes on his chest. “Road flare?”

“Light it up,” Dean wiggled, as though he wanted an arm free to gesture. “Down the hatch.”

Sam rocked back on his heels, releasing the weight from Dean's uninjured arm. His brother immediately tried to scoot away and pick at the burned fabric of his right sleeve, but hissed out a breath in obvious pain and sank back into the dirt.

“You...you lit a road flare,” Sam stared at the wendigo, then back to his brother's injuries. “You shoved a lit road flare? Down its throat?”

Dean raised his uninjured hand in a fist, then spread the fingers out to mimic an explosion. “Pow.”

Sam shook his head and turned back to tend to his brother's injuries. “That has to be the stupidest plan you've ever come up with.”

“Aw, come on, Sammy,” Dean protest. “It was awesome.”

“Awesome. Right.” Sam didn't miss the way Dean flinched when he gently picked up his brother's arm to check the burns. “We gotta get you back to Cas. This is gonna hurt once the adrenaline drops.”

“I'm good,” Dean shook his head, flailing his uninjured hand up to clumsily pat Sam on the shoulder. “Hey, Sammy...”

“No, Dean,” he could see where this was going, and shoved the hem of his brother's shirt up to check the slashes on his test. They weren't too deep, but they'd need to be stitched, even just for the six-hour drive to meet up with Cas (although next time maybe he'd lock Dean in his room to make him wait for the angel...boredom was a better fate than being mangled by a wendigo.)

“Sam-my,” Dean whined. “Listen.”

Sam shook his head. “Hand on, I need to check your back.” He slid a careful hand behind his brother's shoulders. “Tell me if something hurts.”

“This is important.”

“You can tell me later,” Sam frowned, finding a tight knot of muscle. “Does this hurt?”

Dean arched away from him with an oath, feebly swatting at Sam's arm. It was in the muscle of his shoulder, so he could have landed on a rock and torn or sprained something. “Sorry, dude.” Sam pulled his hands away and held them up where Dean could see them. “I don't think you hurt your spine or neck, though.”

Wheezing, Dean settled back down and glared up at Sam. “Your bedside manner sucks.”

Sam bit back a chuckle. “Lemme get the kit from the car and we'll patch you up enough to travel.”

“Wait, Sammy?” Dean caught his sleeve. Sam hesitated, staring down at his brother. They needed to get moving, but Dean looked so innocent and forlorn in the dirt with his face all scratched up.

Then Dean released his sleeve, fanning his fingers out. “I'm the _bomb_.”

Sam felt his lips press together and his eyebrows draw in, the expression Dean always called his bitch-face. “I will leave your ass here,” he threatened, stalking off into the darkness toward the Impala, Dean's cackle of laughter following him.

**Author's Note:**

> Dean repeated his "I'm the bomb" joke to Cas. Cas knocked him out "so he won't suffer during treatment", but really so Jack wouldn't hear the Dad Jokes and get Dean started again. 
> 
> It didn't help. Dean told Jack anyway, and for the next week Jack took every chance he could to set Dean up to make it again. They're an unstoppable team: Jack loves dad jokes and Dean loves telling them.


End file.
